


Aran

by exclusive



Category: Metroid Series
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Mystery, Nintendo - Freeform, Reboot, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclusive/pseuds/exclusive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious man has searched all of his life to uncover the legend of Aran, a modern legend that has never been accounted for by researchers of survivors of the legend's heroic deeds.  The man finally, after decades of searching, has a starting point of the legend.  Some how the man believes the hero was some how involved in his families life and perhaps more.  He quickly finds himself uncovering not only the story of the Legend, but of something far greater.</p><p>An ancient civilization, a threat that will wipe out the Universe, and the origins of the legend, Samus Aran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my vision of the Metroid series. I am not a die hard fan of the series, but I grew up with the NES Metroid and the story has always been of interest to me. This is my interpretation of the character and the mythos. Please note that this is not supposed to tie into the Nintendo world, but is rather a retelling of the story. I hope to stay on top of this story unlike my previous work, Star Craft which I honestly only did for a friend.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and of course any comments, questions, or suggestions are welcome. I hope to provide some fan service during the series.

“What’s this?” A thick gray mustache mumbled with a chewed up cigar shoved between two sausage lips. Similar gray eyes stared down at a data-slide that was tossed onto his desk. He picked it up between two fat fingers as the clear lamanent bent under his pressure and the digital blue lights of foreign font filled the slide. “Ah.” He knew what it was when he explored the page more with his eyes.

“That all you needed?” A voice asked from the dark corner of the gray man’s office.

He nodded with a huff of smoke, “Fer now.” He shooed the figure away with his other hand and stared, not taking an eye from it. At the top right corner it translated to: Document 2L. Below that line: Scribe: Klaxon 12b. Though the old man’s tremors were a part of his bad health the trembling through his bones was caused by something entirely different as he began to read.

“Boss, closing hour.” A shout came from outside his door.

He didn’t look away, “Send the paper to print.”

There was a pause, “Have a good night, boss.”

It had been fifty-two years since he had began to search for the document. To search for anything remotely telling of what had happened to his family in Star System Delta Five. He knew the document was a retelling of something light years from the galactic quarry he wanted answers to, but it was the closest thing he had ever seen to talk about the hero of the stars. A legend. Something that was more accepted as a children’s story than anything based on actual record. The record he held in his hand was written in a language that could be best described as purposefully encrypted. A language developed by an ancient peoples to be something unreadable.

He could barely make sense of it. The first few pages seemed meaningless, they were something to the effect of location of the event, though none of the quardinates made any sense to any way of logging star’s quardinates or planets. If he had to guess the light of such an event was probably barely visible at his current location. That, in a romantic sense, the events were taking place as he read them.

It was, to the best of his knowledge, the earliest record of Aran.

* * *

 

“She is just a child,” One of the long shouldered figures cawed in an awkward language that sounded more like slow and whimsical whistles. “Ferry her away from what is to our err. To the edge of all orbits, perhaps, some culture can reside for another generation before it succumbs.”

A much louder and heavier voice boomed from the edge of the shadows, “Then, for the sake of her breath, let all fall to our mistakes. Martyr a universe than a single soul. So noble and brilliant,” It whistled sarcatically, “Too bad no soul can survive to retell of your courage.”

“And you, such a vanguard of the galactic-xeno survival, to rely on a child.”

“We are not foreign to death. Betray your wits if you must, pretend, I will allow you a moment to just that, that this temple, once an errand for the pilgrims who were bored of clemency, is not the last of us. The last of those who could ever stop a plague.”

“Bring forth!” She cried, “Bring forth an idea that isn’t to create one thing to supervise and eliminate another. See not a paradigm. Perhaps the quest of the all-seer was to watch us fumble and conclude the history of the universe so that it may begin again to make something less follied.”

“Zealot,” The voice whipped, so loud it shook the stone pillars around them, “Believe in whatever fate to allow you to mistake the universe into a silent grave. She will be sent, mother-beak, to do what she was created to do.”

There was a long silence between the two of them, “It will be poetic, at least,” She mused, “To create and be destroyed by that which we create.”

“I wish I could muster such fool-hearty desires for death.” He sighed, “I quite enjoyed eternity.”

Outside of the dusty shadows was a jungle full of green and vibrant shades of red that were reflected off the binary purple and blue stars in the sky. It was humid to the point that the air would cause pneumonia of the worst kind from just a few breaths. From on high, several meters from the muddy soil on a wet branch was a girl with golden hair that was stuck to her back and breasts. Her face was young, perhaps fifteen, and human in nature. She had sharp eyes that gave no distinct color, they were simply bright. She was nearly naked save for a blue material that shined white in the bright suns that stroked through the leafy canopy.

The material was like a second layer of skin that wrapped around her lithe frame. Her small breasts were cupped neatly in them, but her sides were bare as the suit was like a revealing single piece bathing suit. It wrapped back around her waist and covered her young nethers. She sat with her back against the moist bark of the tree as several insects went into and out of her hair, often getting lost in the swampy mess. She stared through her wet locks surveying the tree line. It had been her home for the past two years and she liked it better than her last home. Her last one had been dry, hot, and barren. Rolling sand dunes were natural terraformers where mountains of small rocks and dust would migrate past the horizon in just half a day if the winds were strong enough, which they often were.

In the jungle she was reminded of where she was raised in her earliest memories. It was a similar jungle, but the life was a little different and it wasn’t so humid. Her family had developed her suit before their escape from the desert so she would not die in her new home. They told her, squawking in song, how she would have to be more careful, that she would have to always wear her suit and being naked, as she was so used to, could not be an option. They had been developing another suit altogether for her a few years ago, before they evacuated, that would allow her to finish her growth as a Meteron, as they called it. Though they never had finished it or at least they never gave it to her. Instead she had to wear her sticky blue suit.

When she was given it she was excited, it was red and pink, her favorite colors, the colors of her mother sun bearer’s armor. Though, as she was warned, it would most likely change color, to better suit the climate. To ensure she wouldn’t be deprived of the proper nutrients her species required from a proper sun.

Her family had once been a sort that spoke little and when they did speak it was often to warn her, to teach her, or to direct her. Though, in the recent weeks, they had been talking more and more. She assumed such banter meant they would return where she missed the most, the sunny jungle of her childhood. When she asked her mother she remained silent and instead the Speaker would caw at her that return to that place would be pointless for any of them. That they had more to speak of then places to enjoy their lives.

She wasn’t allowed to speak often and certainly never when the Speaker would sing. No one, except the most elite would speak. Her mother, the one in pink, would chime in. Quite often as of late.

“Child!” She heard the song of her mother, “Don’t go running off again, you must stay near home.” The voice was far away, well over a kilometer, but she heard it well enough to hear the strict manner in her voice.

She looked back over her shoulder, back home. There was nothing but trees in the way of home. Quickly, she climbed up the sticky and wet tree, his feet easily grasping as if hands along the tree as she hopped up the bark. Her thighs were thick, even more so for her age, and her arms were thin, but as she grasped to the trunk and pulled up her muscles bent through her skin showing how powerful she was. With each hop she bounded several meters up before clinging back to the wood.

In no time she was at the top of the canopy where her eyes adjusted to the bright reflection of red and green from the shiny leaves of the sea of tree tops. Far off, towards the voice, was a large pyramid shaped temple that stuck out above it all. She couldn’t sing like her family and at such distances her voice could not carry. Instead she would whistle between her teeth, a low hum of a frequency, but they could hear her whispers. “Along shortly,” She sighed out. Along with the change of conversational pace back home came with another change that she could not longer venture out or stay out for a few days like she used to.

When she would ask why her mother would beat a breath of mustered patience, “It is too dangerous at your age to go out.” Sounding, ironically, very human, though the reasoning quite different. The adopted child was not as resilient as them, not yet at least. They told her, that once she matured she could brave the galaxy without her protective suits. But during her puberty, a notion her adoptive parents knew little of, her suits would be less effective.

She slid down a few branch levels down her tree and walked a thick branch that soon became something more resembling of a thick stick. Though it did not bend, like a graceful dove, she stood at the edge of it and it was as if she did not exist ontop of such a thin bough. She bounded a meter to the next tree’s branch where it bent only slightly and she walked and bounded across the canopy in such a manner that it could be mistaken for a soloist’s ballet.


	2. Chapter 2

The mouth of the pyramid was adorned with carved statues made from the walls of the cavernous opening. Overgrowth had made its way along the outside features and the green webbing of life crept into the shadowy depths till there was no natural light to feed off of. The brown and gray stone the structure was made of seemed alien to the wilderness it struck through. It some how refused to sink after the eons it seemed to had existed on the wet plot of land it was built on. All along the bricks and boulders were carvings, ornately drawing or writing a story of the stars. Every section of the pyramid told a different story. For the time the child had been there she had only read half way through the length of the base’s tale. She would get lost in the amazing stories of her mother’s people and the history they had.

She leaped down to the jungle’s floor, her wispy body slid through the web of boughs and leaves. For several meters she fell, her golden hair pulled away from her sticky body and made the top half of her look like a golden rod. And with just as much guile as she had done when creeping along the canopy she did so with landing on the wet floor. Her feet touched the ground and she could feel the muddy soil give a little underneath her speeding body. Her hand pressed to the floor to ease her immediate descent and as if such a thing was so human she lifted herself back to her two feet and entered the stony mouth.

The innards of the structure smelled like pitch and brass, a stony-fire sort of smell with the hint of soldering. The depths became completely black, but her eyes adjusted quickly. Soon the walls of sandy-brown became gray and white and far off, reflecting off the passageway’s furthest corner was an amber plume of light, the faintest of lights. The caverns of the temple were always black with few fires underneath glass decorated bulbs along the passageways. Her family had little requirement of light, the bulbs were placed there when they had arrived for her benefit.

She whistled and smacked her lips in a hiss and pop sound, “Mother?” She called out to the darkness. Her voice rippled and bounced along the shadowy walls.

“This way, child.” Came from a second or third hall. Carefully she stepped along the cold floor, her hand sliding along the mortar-less brick walls as she turned and came to a wide opening in the structure. There, with her eyes, she saw the features of her family that surrounded the opening of the large room. They looked like statues with large almond eyes that took up most of their face, if it could be called a face. The eyes stared and never blinked, they had no details like hers, just ominous round gazes. Between them was a long beak that never moved, even as they whispered their songs. They had no neck and they’d point out the fact many times by calling her long-neck affectionately. Their shoulders were wide and thick and would move as a single plank. From their shoulders hung long tattered curtains that contained the rest of them. She had never seen what was below and it was rare to ever see her family move. They would often simply be in different rooms throughout the day. When she did see them move they waddled too-and-fro with their single-jointed shoulders brushing against the walls.

She stepped to the entrance of the room and stared along the walls. Her entire family had to of been occupying the room. Her gaze shot upwards and along the higher walls were more rows of the endless gazes. More rows even higher still were more of her family. All of them certainly were there by the looks of it. “Child.” They all whispered, the collective voices formed a beautiful song.

She had never seen them all collected so. She stared in amazement.

“Come.” Another song that formed in the bellows of the room. She obeyed and stepped more into the room, she turned about slowly with each step to see them all, she smiled when her gaze rested back to the floor level and before her was her mother. Even the pink she wore could still be seen in the pitched shadows.

“Mother,” Her song had more pops and slurs to it than her family. They seemed to actually form words instead of long hums like her family. “What is all this?” She had a bright smile on, but still she was confused.

“Child.” Only her mother spoke, “You are nearly mature.” Though the gaze of her mother showed nothing she could feel the whimpers in the song. The emotional typhoon that welled in her. “Soon, you will be the Meteron.”

She stared back blankly, “But the suit was lost to the last evacuation.”

The armor of her mother shook as if to shake her head, “Lost, no.” She sang, “It remains where it last was.”

“But…” Her lips puckered and then sucked into her mouth so that she could bite them. She knew what was to come. They had not allowed her to become complacent, they told her what she was to be. What her past was. Who they, her adoptive family, was.

“Easy, we must not fuss. Not now.” Her mother stood stiff as the child pressed herself against her. Her arms latched onto her mother’s shoulders and the large shoulders held her weight. Though the statuesque form of her mother did not embrace her back, it was hard to know if she ever could, but the soft sighing coo of her mother was the warmth that wrapped around her. “Child of the Song,” She sang into her ear, her name, the name they all sang when they called upon her.

“Child of the Song.” The heavier song came from a row up and behind her. The familiar whipping voice of the Speaker. “We haven’t the time to coddle.” He was abrasive, but she was not a fool either, there mustn't be any time if they all had gathered.

She let go of her mother and stepped back nodding and turned to face the speaker. A similar set of eyes and large frame stood in the wall above. “Remember?”

“I do.”

“Good.” He paused and then the chorus of them all sang, “Farewell, star child.”

It all seemed too fast for her. She turned around and reached for her mother and in her best attempt she sang for her, “Mother!” She cried, her hand clawed at the air, but the hum of the chorus vibrated through her and seemed to rip her way. There was a blinding light that came from the heavens above and she could see them all. Brightly gold with all sorts of colors and gems of her entire family that were like statues pinned to the endless high walls. “No!” She screamed and she tried to step out of the pillar of light, but she couldn’t seem to move. Even with her incredible strength she couldn’t seem to make any significant attempt. Her feet pushed into the ground and the stone floor crumbled underneath her step, but still she was caged in the roar of the light.

“No!” She yelled in her native tongue, a harsh language that could never be a song. A language that ached her family. She could hardly remember much of it, she could never practice it, but they always encouraged her to never forget it. To practice it when she was out about the wilds. “Mother!” Again, as if cursing in the foul language, she screamed. The humming only got louder and the light made them all vanish in the white shaft of light.


	3. The Gray Man

The man covered his mouth, his fingers getting lost in the thick gray whiskers, and tears rolled down his leathery cheeks. He silenced his huff and sigh as he came to the end of the of the computerized translation of the data disk. He trembled even more as he held it before letting it fall back to his desk. Something had gripped him, as he read it he felt as though he experienced every emotion that occurred. That he could smell everything worth smelling. It wasn't as if he was anything of what the document had detailed, but something else.

At the edge of his desk was his ashtray with a cigar that had dried and turned to all but ash. In the silence of his shadowy office he could hear the songs. The document had grabbed him in a way he had never felt before. He waved his hand over the data-drive and a beam of light shot from the center and then it spread out to show a green and blue hologram of information. His hand played around with the hologram, it took a moment extra to account for his constant shaking before it understood the request.

The floating screen vanished for a second and then what seemed to be an array of stars and galactic coils spread out across the entirety of his office. He waved his hand against it and the stars shot out from the pad and filled the entire room. Blue and white clusters with green text along everything detailed some galaxy. 

His fingers typed into the air and he pointed to a distant spark against a wall next to an award he had earned over three decades before. The focus of the star system changed from a distant galaxy as it was pulled from just a splash of starry mist to a vibrant web of spheres. It was as if they were made of fire and massive explosions of red and blue space-ash. 

Again, his fingers spread across the data and he selected a solar system. The hologram highlighted the binary system and he pushed his other hand as if to send the star system away. The entire galaxy fled from his finger tips and more stars and clusters along with voids and booming super novas took over the walls and presence of air before him. He pointed to a new star system, D5.

The hot gassy orbs paused for a moment as the data-drive seemed to take a moment, for the first time, to concentrate on calculations. The silence was overwhelming and the man finally stopped shaking and instead he felt his heart pump in his chest as if it were trying to break free of his rib-cage. In large green text in front of him, swallowing up and blocking out the star systems it read: 12mly.

"Twelve million light years..." He shook his head, "Impossible." He felt like he was fading, but a static beeping from his chair notified he was being fed the medicine necessary to stop him from having a stroke. He let out a long breath and pushed the letters and numbers away from him as he grabbed his chest to calm himself down.

"Doctor?" A young voice came from the door.

"Allan?" The gray man called out, "Tom?" He couldn't identify the voice, one of the younger brats. One of the interns. "That you?"

"Macavoy, Doctor." He replied softly. "I heard beeping."

He shook his head in the darkness, "Get used to it, Mac." He coughed and wheezed for a moment, "I'll die in this chair. Be sure of it. But the beeping means it ain't time for it yet." He let out a moaned laugh.

"Can I get you anything, Doctor?"

"Macavoy... macavoy... Mc-Avoy..." He said it over and over in whispers.

"Doctor?"

"Damnit, boy, enough with the Doctor."

"Sorry."

"Macavoy, what did we hire you for anyways?"

"Just interning, Doctor. Sorry. Hired, hopefully, one day. I'm with Leonard down in Records. He had kept me late to retrie-"

The man's hand flicked and he shot the document code text to the young man's face at the door.

Macavoy nodded to the display, "Right, that." He flicked his hand along the document text, turning it into a different language with every gesture. "Leonard said it was of importance. A public document, most like lost. Probably considered corrupted or mishandled."

"But you found it, eh?"

"Wasn't hard. The details just re-" The boy wanted to continue musing on how he was able to do it.

"You found it." He barked happily, "Enough for me."

"It's a saga."

"Career linguistics, Macavoy?" He was surprised the intern could understand anything of what he had found, much less figure out what it was.

The boy shook his head, "No." He blushed, "Something of an interest, a hobby I suppose. Hard to do records for a company like yours and not have some capability with understanding languages and format."

"Leonard couldn't even tell me what it was." The man chuckled. He could feel his heart ease and more medicine pour through his veins.

"Brilliant, he is. Chozo, though, not many waste their time with it. Hieroglyphics interest children and -"

The old man concluded for him: "Men who waste rich men's money."

Macavoy laughed a little, "Archaeologists was what I was going to say."

"So?"

"Right, yes. I suppose I am a bit of child who would of wanted to be an archaeologist. Seemed right to focus on Chozo anthropology at the very least."

"Speak any of it?" A question where the man's voice actually seemed greatly interested.

Even Macavoy could heard the curiosity of the man. He was excited, but he contained it the best he could, "Can anyone? No one had ever heard it before. No one of recollection."

"I heard it, once." The man confessed and Macavoy would of called the man a loony or a liar right then and there if he hadn't been his boss.

"How?" He tried to contain the contempt in his tone, "I mean, if you don't mind -"

"Long ago." 

Of course, he thought.

"Before you were born probably."

Naturally.

"But you can translate?"

"I suppose. If there was enough source material. A complete source, if such a thing existed."

The man flicked his hand over the data-drive once more and sent the last bit of text that had been translated to a more readable dialect than the original hieroglyphics, it was more so phonic translations, not anything written or spoken in their native tongue. "Faster than this is translating?"

They both watched as the characters of pictured-text slowly changed into a letter.

"Much faster." He scrolled his finger along the air to read past where the translator's cursor was currently. "You see, their communication, is supposed by evidence, to be messaged in a manner of forethought. To know what one thing says is to first understand what is being said later on or lastly. Even our databases will take a great amount of time to-"

"I know the language some-what too, Macavoy."

"Of course, sorry, Doctor." He paused with a fumbling with his tongue, "Sorry."

He ignored it, "How do you like records?"

"Leonard is great. The experience is -"

"Leonard is a twat." He waved the boy into the office, "And records, if it is anything remotely like what it was when I worked records, is a hell hole."

Macavoy gave a nervous laugh. The man wasn't sure if it was because of what he had said or if because the boy actually enjoyed Leonard and records. "Being in the bullpen or -"

"I'll hire you at bullpen rate then-"

He nearly lost himself in disbelief, "I..." He stuttered, "For what?"

"To be my assistant."

"But Harris -"

The man already had an assistant, "He will continue on as my assistant. You, however, outside of the talents of Harris, will help me translate this."

"Will we publish it?"

"We won't speak of it but when in this office. This document is considered folklore at best. We only print evidence of fact."

"When do I begin?"

"Grab a coffee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part of the story is where I began to understand the direction for the story. And by direction, I mean how it should unfold and how the actors should play.


End file.
